


You'll Always Be Wanted

by tiger_lily99



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon, Daryl has a playful side, Drabbles, Fluff, Glenn tries too hard, M/M, Mild Smut, One Shot Collection, season four, season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_lily99/pseuds/tiger_lily99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Previously titled "Sticks and Stones"<br/>Chapters 1-5 are Daryl/Glenn, 6-9 will be Daryl/Rick. This work is COMPLETE!<br/>I own nothing from the Walking Dead.<br/>1. Daryl has a weird side effect from antibiotics<br/>2. Based on "If This Was a Movie" by Taylor Swift<br/>3. Glenn tries to surprise Daryl with breakfast in bed<br/>4. Daryl and Glenn celebrate the 4th of July<br/>5. Glenn shares a sleeping bag with Daryl<br/>6. Everything Daryl never wanted to hear<br/>7. Rick comes home to a kitten<br/>8. Daryl finds an old picture of Rick<br/>9. Daryl and Rick buy a house</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Side Effects

“That’s the third time you’ve pointed that thing at my head!” Daryl’s voice sounded guttural and exhausted, and he swayed on the spot, but he was alive. Glenn out a soft laugh of relief, leaning over to rest his hands on his knees. Daryl was alive. He’d never felt so relieved before in his life. Shane, T-Dog and Rick all visibly relaxed, each of them obviously thankful they hadn’t tried to kill Daryl.

“You gonna pull the trigger, or what?” Rick lowered his gun, shaking his head and laughing softly. Glenn took in Daryl’s condition. Other than looking exhausted and covered in blood and dirt, the only wound Glenn could see was hidden under the makeshift bandage Daryl had made out of his torn shirt. Had he been bitten?

Any thought of bite wounds disappeared from Glenn’s mind as a gunshot cracked through the humid air. He saw Daryl’s head twist with the force of the blow, his heart wrenching as he fell to the ground.

“No! No! Stop!” Rick’s desperate scream put words to Glenn’s adrenaline rush. His legs propelled him forward. No, no, no, no, no… He couldn’t be dead. Not now. Not after he’d fought his way back from who knows how far away.

Crouching over Daryl’s limp body, Glenn put his hands on either side of his face. “Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.” He almost cried when he saw a gash on the side of Daryl’s head. The bullet had only grazed him. Oh, thank God.

He dimly registered Andrea screaming distantly behind them. His knees were too weak from being frightened half to death twice, so he let Rick and Shane pick up the unconscious Daryl and carry him back to the house while he carried the crossbow. Panic bubbled up out of nowhere, threatening to completely take over.

“Oh my God, oh my God, is he dead?” Andrea and Dale reached them. She was visibly upset, tears streaming down her face.

“Unconscious. You just grazed him.” Rick almost looked more exhausted than Daryl did.

Glenn’s panic overwhelmed him, and he started babbling uncontrollably. “But look at him! What the hell happened? He’s wearing ears!” He closed his eyes and bit his tongue before he started to completely freak out. Deep breaths, deep breaths. He didn’t hear what Rick said, just concentrated on controlling the panic. Daryl had nearly died, he might be bit, but right now he was okay. He was okay right now.

Glenn watched as Daryl was carried inside the house. He sat in a chair near the campfire pit, resting his head in his hands and trying not to think of the bite Jim had sustained. It was a while before Glenn calmed down enough to go into the house and eat dinner with everyone else. 

 

***

 

Dinner passed awkwardly, but Hershel told everyone that Daryl would be just fine, much to Glenn’s relief. He volunteered to take a plate of food to Daryl, and when everyone was done eating, he loaded a plate with whatever hadn’t been eaten, and carefully carried it along with a glass of orange juice through the house. Hershel caught his arm.

“I just want to warn you, there might be some side effects from the antibiotics. He might be delirious, he might be just fine. Be careful.” What the heck? Glenn was too focused on getting food to Daryl to think too much about what Hershel said. He merely nodded and continued on his way.

When Glenn opened the door to the bedroom, the first thing he noticed was the dopey grin plastered on Daryl’s face. The redneck was propped up against the headboard in a sitting position, his hands behind his bandaged head and his eyes closed. What the hell? Daryl was never that happy.

When Daryl smelled the fried chicken, his eyes flew open. “Fried chicken? Ooh, and orange juice! I love orange juice.” He giggled and grabbed the plate from Glenn and started messily devouring everything on the plate. Glenn watched with half amusement and half concern. Should he time this? And since when did Daryl giggle? He wasn’t sure if he’d even heard him laugh before. Heck, he couldn’t remember the last time Daryl smiled.

When Daryl started licking the plate noisily, Glenn decided to interfere. “Okay, let’s not get carried away.” He took the plate from Daryl’s hands and was given a rather adorable pout in return. But it was soon replaced by the dopey grin, and Daryl flopped back onto the bed. He was babbling nonsense about the dust particles in the air when Glenn closed the door to return the plate and glass to the kitchen. 

Hershel was sitting at the table, and looked up at Glenn expectantly. Glenn sighed and said, “Yeah, you were right, he’s acting really weird. He’s way too happy.”

Hershel nodded. “It might be a good idea to have someone stay with him for a while.” Oh God. Spending a few hours with an overly happy Daryl was surely an experience he could skip. But he saw the pointed look on Hershel’s face, and agreed halfheartedly. He returned to the bedroom.

“Hey! You’re back!” Daryl had somehow managed to tangle himself up in the sheets in the two minutes Glenn had been gone. Oh, good God. Glenn sighed and went to work trying to unravel the mess of sheets and Daryl. The older man was no help at all, lying sprawled on the bed and grinning like an idiot while Glenn attempted to get a swath of blankets from underneath him. He started giggling uncontrollably as Glenn became more and more annoyed. 

“Will you just help me?” Glenn glared at Daryl, who shook his head and pulled more blankets over himself. A voice came from the resulting cocoon. “Nuh-uh.”

He was like a little kid. Glenn decided to handle the absurd situation with that thought in mind, and said almost teasingly, “All right, I’m just going to have to leave you there if you won’t come out.” He was rewarded with Daryl shifting the sheets so he could peek out from underneath them. “No! I don’t want you to leave. You’re…” Glenn watched Daryl’s eyes narrow as he looked for the right word. “You’re pretty.” He started giggling again. 

What the hell? Before he could say anything, Daryl started singing softly. “I keep a close watch on this heart of mine…” Glenn’s heart swelled to twice its size. Daryl’s voice was rough and deep and off pitch, but Glenn had never heard anything so beautiful. Daryl stopped and looked at him. “Sing with me!” But he started off on a nonsensical tangent about brothers who cut their hands off, and Glenn looked at him worriedly. He had no idea how to handle this Daryl. And furthermore, he had called him pretty. Did Daryl think he was pretty when he wasn’t high on antibiotics? 

He sighed. Daryl was handsome in a rugged sort of way, sure, but he couldn’t think about that at the moment. Right now, Daryl was flailing about on the bed, trying to get the blankets off. Glenn went to help him before he hurt himself. It was a struggle, but between the two of them, they managed to untangle Daryl from the blankets and get him back into his sitting position on the bed. For the first time, Glenn noticed he was shirtless. What he saw made his breath catch in his throat.

Daryl was covered in scars. Old gashes crisscrossed his chest and stomach and Glenn knew there were more on his back. No wonder he never took his shirt off in front of the group, even on the hottest days where even the women were walking around in sports bras. Tears welled up in Glenn’s eyes. Daryl was occupied with a knickknack he’d found on the side table, and didn’t notice. Glenn was overwhelmed with the urge to just pull the older man into his arms and hold him for a while. He couldn’t imagine how Daryl had endured so much pain and still turned out as decent as he was. He wiped at his eyes and crawled onto the bed, giving in to his urge. 

Daryl started when Glenn slid his arms around his middle and worked his way behind him, spooning him in a sitting position. He remained tense for a while, but eventually got used to Glenn cradling him and started toying with his knickknack again. Glenn was grateful for Daryl’s high, he knew there was no way he would have let him touch him if he was in his normal state. He rested his cheek on the spot where Daryl’s neck met his shoulders, trying not to move too much.

“You’re warm.” Glenn smiled softly when Daryl finally spoke. He made no move to leave his position though, just tightened his grip ever so slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated!


	2. If This Was a Movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the song "If This Was a Movie" by Taylor Swift.  
> AU- No zombies

Daryl was staring at his phone.

He knew which buttons to press. It would be easy, it was only seven numbers. Digits that had been burned into the back of his mind, ingrained into the muscles in his hands. He could do it blindfolded. All he had to do was reach out and take the phone into his hand.

But the fucking thing was staring back at him.

Daryl sighed and put his head in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lamps in his shitty apartment, so the only light came through the single filmy window, casting long shadows across the floor and ceiling. Night was falling quickly, giving the atmosphere that bluish-pink tint that only came during the summer. The street lamps were starting to blink on, one by one.

He needed a drink. The phone watched him as he made his way around the kitchen, fumbling in the low light for a bottle of anything. Barefoot, he padded back to the table, sat down, and took a swig. He needed to drown out the silence. All he could hear was his own breathing and his own heartbeat, and the latter reminded him too much of footsteps. Footsteps that were too loud, had always been too loud. But Daryl missed them, the way they’d woken him up in the morning and the way his heart leapt when he heard them outside the door. His hand tightened around the bottle.

Six months. God damn, he was pathetic. Six months gone, and he still listened for the obnoxious clunking on the stairs that meant he’d come back. That meant he hadn’t managed to screw everything up. To destroy the best fucking thing that ever happened to him.

Fuck. Daryl rested his forehead on his arm, the other still desperately hanging onto the bottle like a lifeline. The walls he’d so carefully created had been weakening for a while, but he could feel them crumbling now. Tears pricked his eyes, and he grit his teeth, trying to contain the flood.

_Daryl stood behind him, pressed flush against the other man’s body, teaching him how to cast the fishing pole properly. He grinned as they swung their arms in tandem and watched the hook catch in a patch of cattails._

_“Damn! Here, I’ll get it.” Black hair peeked out of a baseball cap, sun glinted off tanned arms as -._

“No, no, no…” Daryl groaned, his breath hitching.

_“No way I’m getting on that thing.” Daryl wasn’t scared of horses. No way. But they were kinda big, and had teeth. And weighed over a thousand pounds. And no matter where you stood, their big eyeballs always seemed to be watching you._

_“Oh, come on, you promised! I was good all last weekend when you made me live in the woods for three days! Just put your foot in the stirrup, grab the horn and pull yourself up.”_

Fuck it. He all but fell out of his chair, sliding to the floor and leaning back against the kitchen cabinets with his knees drawn up to his chest. The tears were flowing freely now, and a sob even wrenched its way out of him. Daryl didn’t cry prettily. He didn’t have much practice doing it.

_“Why don’t you just out with it, huh? Fuckin’ SAY IT, already!” He knew it. They all did the same thing. It was only a matter of time until they saw him with his shirt off or caught a glimpse when he was busy doing something._

_“Daryl-”_

_“Cause let me tell you something, I’m SICK and fucking TIRED of everyone-”_

_“DARYL!” Hands on his chest. Pushed up against the wall. “Stop.”_

 

_The feel of his arms around him, the rumble of his motorcycle. Rain. A parking lot. A golden glow from the lights. Soft, warm lips on his._

 

_The sound of clothes dropping to the floor. Steam. Apprehension. A wide grin, his hands moving over him. The smell of soap._

 

_The moonlight on his face as he slept._

 

Daryl hurled the empty bottle across the kitchen, pissed that it wasn’t enough to get him drunk. It crashed into the fridge and shattered. He wasn’t coming back, and that was that. He could have sworn there’d been something going on with that girl. Maggie. That was her name. When he hadn’t come home that night, when he returned the next morning and didn’t deny it when Daryl asked, that’s when he knew. Knew he’d been betrayed.

He’d all but thrown him out of the apartment, both of them screaming bloody murder. Daryl had really thought he was different. They’d been almost embarrassing, always together, always being teased by their friends. Daryl had really thought they were something real. But maybe he’d made a mistake?

It was awful when he’d come back for his things. He’d carefully kept his gaze away from Daryl, quietly murmuring everything he’d said. Just the sight of him almost broke Daryl, almost made him fall to his knees and ask him to stay.

Almost.

But it didn’t matter. Glenn was gone, and he wasn’t coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated!


	3. Operation Breakfast in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go wrong when Glenn tries to make breakfast for Daryl.  
> AU- No zombies

Glenn knew Daryl didn’t care much for going to fancy restaurants or heck, even leaving the apartment to celebrate his birthday. So throughout the couple of weeks leading up to it, he slowly accumulated supplies for his master plan, Operation Breakfast in Bed. Not a whole lot of fuss, just a crapload of food and maybe some really hot morning sex involving whipped cream or something afterward. He called in sick to work one day and then drove out to the rural area surrounding Atlanta and bought a small jug of real maple syrup from a guy who tapped his own maple trees and had his own sugarhouse. He made sure to hide it in the very back of the fridge where Daryl wouldn’t find it and start asking questions. 

Next was a box of pancake mix and bacon, which were easy enough. Glenn simply brought them home after going grocery shopping, but he made sure to hide the bacon in an empty Tater Tots bag and stuff it with ice cubes to make it look like it actually still had Tater Tots in it. If Daryl found the bacon, the entire package would be gone in half an hour. He’d have to be careful when transferring it to the fridge to defrost the night before he made the breakfast.

The eggs and hot chocolate were the hardest. Glenn had to time his grocery runs perfectly so he could buy those the day before Daryl’s birthday without raising suspicion. If he’d gone too early in the week, he wouldn’t have had enough groceries to hide the dozen organic brown eggs and fancy hot chocolate he rarely ever got, and Daryl would have figured out what he was doing. If he’d gone too late, he would have had to come up with an excuse as to why he was putting off going grocery shopping. And Glenn really, really sucked at lying.

Everything went perfectly. Well, up until he actually had to cook the breakfast.

The morning of, Glenn’s phone buzzed, waking him up at seven a.m. with a jolt. He fumbled for the lit screen, managing to turn off the alarm before Daryl woke up. He lay still for a moment, making sure his boyfriend would stay asleep. Daryl stirred briefly, but it didn’t take long before his breathing was slow and even again. 

Glenn eased himself out from underneath Daryl’s arm and tucked a pillow into the space he’d been in. He left the bedroom as quickly as he could without knocking into anything or making too much noise. Good thing Daryl liked to keep the door cracked. His socked feet made little noise on the linoleum as he made his way to the kitchen. The sun had already started to come up, and weak rays of light streamed in through the kitchen window. Glenn admired the sunrise for a moment before donning the pink apron dotted with cupcakes Daryl had gotten him as a joke and getting to work. 

He dug through several different cupboards and the refrigerator and laid all of his stuff out on the counter. He set a large frying pan on the stove and started the bacon first, since it would take the longest, and then got to work on the pancake batter. The eggs and hot chocolate would go last.

Once the bacon started sizzling, Glenn hoped Daryl wouldn’t wake up from the noise before he managed to get everything done. He coated a second frying pan with cooking spray, poured three neat little circles of pancake batter onto it, and set it on a second burner. He then figured he could start frying the eggs and heating up milk for the hot chocolate. 

It was a complete disaster. The first three pancakes turned out too thin, and Glenn forgot to use more cooking spray for the next batch, so they ended up stuck to the bottom of the pan and burned. The eggs were done too soon and grew cold as they sat on a plate waiting for the rest of the breakfast to finish. Frustrated, Glenn turned up the heat on the bacon and soon got splattered by tiny drops of grease that burned his skin.

By then, a haze of smoke had filled the kitchen and tripped the fire alarm. Glenn groaned in defeat. There was no way Daryl was going to sleep through the alarm’s obnoxious wailing. He turned off all the burners except for the bacon, hoping he could at least save that, and then climbed onto a chair and switched off the alarm. When he looked back down, Daryl was leaning against the doorframe, clad only in red plaid sleeper pants with his arms crossed and a smug look on his face. His light brown hair was mussed from sleep, and his numerous scars stood out on his pale skin. “You tryin’ ta burn the fuckin’ house down or somethin’?”

Glenn hopped off the chair, waved his spatula in the general direction of the fire alarm and said sheepishly, “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Daryl snorted, and then padded over to see what was cooking on the stove while Glenn took off his apron and set it on the counter. “Least you saved the bacon,” he said with a grin. “Come here.” 

He kissed Glenn in that rough way he had, one hand tangling in his black hair and the other cupping the back of his neck. He pushed Glenn against the counter, and even though the edge was digging into the small of his back and the room smelled like smoke, he didn’t mind at all. Daryl tasted like water and felt strong and solid, and when Glenn slowly ground his hips forward, he groaned and pushed back, his hard-on pressing against Glenn’s. When Daryl broke away from Glenn to mouth at his neck, sucking at a particularly sensitive spot, Glenn gasped and babbled something incomprehensible about the bacon.

Daryl stopped nibbling at Glenn’s neck and narrowed his eyes at him, swiping his tongue across his lower lip. Never breaking his gaze, he slid his hands down Glenn’s bare chest, across his abdomen, and one hand stopped on his hip while the other slipped underneath his boxers and wrapped around his hard-on. Glenn practically had a stroke, groaning and digging his fingernails into Daryl’s sides and thrusting his hips, trying to create friction against Daryl’s hand. 

“We’re gonna shower first,” Daryl growled into his ear. He turned off the burner, the bacon still sizzling in the pan, and lifted Glenn up, his arms wrapped around his waist and Glenn’s legs wrapped around his ribcage. Glenn kissed him as he was carried into the bathroom, thinking that maybe he hadn’t ruined the morning after all. When Daryl set him down on the bathroom floor, he looked at him with a grin. “Happy birthday, Daryl.”

“Shut up and take your pants off.”


	4. Fireworks

“Y’know, I ain’t never seen fireworks before,” Daryl said, picking up one of the colorful boxes and turning it over in his hands. He should’ve known that that idle comment would have turned Glenn into a fucking 4th of July maniac. His boyfriend practically had a stroke, staring at Daryl with what could only be described as mute horror.

“You’ve never seen fireworks before?!”

And of course he was dumb enough to say something about never having enough money to either buy them or go see a show, which only gave Glenn an even bigger excuse to immediately grab his keys, run out the door, and buy twice as many goddamn fireworks as he’d already gotten. Good thing they’d moved out of the city and gotten their own house in the country or their previous landlord would have had a conniption.

Even though Daryl tried to reason with him, to tell him that he really didn’t need to shit his pants over the whole thing, Glenn just waved him off and went nuts, making sure that the pile of boxes in the backyard was stacked optimally for the best display possible and in the best spot for viewing, that the fire pit had enough wood nearby to keep it going for at least an hour or two, and that they would have enough chocolate and marshmallows to make as many fucking s’mores as they wanted. It was like watching the Tasmanian Devil from the Looney Tunes cartoons.

By the time Glenn came out of his frenzy, night was starting to fall. Daryl handed him a sandwich and a glass of juice, which he accepted gratefully. Then with a grin on his face, he took Daryl’s hand and dragged him over to the fire pit where two lawn chairs were waiting for them.

“I still don’t get how you do this so well,” Glenn said a moment later, when they were both hovering over the pile of sticks and kindling Daryl made. 

Daryl said nothing, just struck a match and held it to a scrunched up ball of paper, then smirked at Glenn when the rest of the paper and the smaller sticks caught. “Got a lot of practice.”

They settled into their chairs, close enough that their arms touched when they were on the armrests. The lights from the house behind them and the fire cast shadows across the yard and the woods. The crackling orange flames grew stronger quickly, licking the strips of wood and dancing higher into the air, emitting small clouds of tiny sparks. It was beginning to get dark fast, and the air developed a slight chill. Fireflies winked in and out at the edge of the woods, the trees rustled in the slight breeze and insects chirped and buzzed all around them. Glenn handed Daryl a small bottle of bug spray, which he happily rubbed onto his arms and neck.

They toasted marshmallows on long, thin sticks, and Glenn managed to light his on fire before panicking and not blowing it out soon enough, leaving him with a blackened lump on the end of his stick. Luckily, Daryl liked his marshmallows slightly burnt. Glenn showed him how to stack it on top of a square of chocolate and sandwich that in between two pieces of graham crackers. The noise that came out of his mouth after the first bite was something close to “ohmawhgawh.” Glenn snickered and earned himself a smack on the arm.

“So when’s the show gonna start? Ya got all those damn fireworks, let’s go, sweetcheeks,” Daryl said, waving his arm at the pile of boxes and then helping himself to another marshmallow and jamming it on the end of his stick.

“You’re not even going to let me finish my s’more first?”

The sugar rush had already put Daryl into a playful mood, but the look on Glenn’s face right then tipped him over the edge. Like lightning, he reached over and snatched the half-finished s’more out of Glenn’s hands. “Nope.” He stuffed it into his mouth, making a complete mess out of the whole thing on purpose. Melted chocolate was smeared across his lips, cheeks and chin, and bits of gooey marshmallow stuck to his facial hair. 

“Hey! I was eating that!” Glenn launched himself out of his lawn chair and tackled Daryl, bringing the two of them crashing to the ground, the redneck still half-seated in his chair. They wrestled in the grass for a bit, but Daryl was bigger and he managed to get Glenn on his back and sat perched on his stomach. He leaned over as if to kiss him, but at the last moment turned his head slightly and rubbed his face against Glenn’s, smearing melted chocolate and marshmallow onto his boyfriend, who squawked and tried to push Daryl away, laughing. Once he was done, Daryl leaned back, grinning, admiring the way Glenn looked flat on his back with chocolate and an indignant look on his face.

“Are you done now?” Glenn asked, trying to wipe off the chocolate with his hands and failing miserably.

What the hell kind of question was that? “Nope,” Daryl said, and then proceeded to lick the chocolate and marshmallow off Glenn’s face, making obnoxious smacking noises while he did it.

“Oh my God! Daryl!” Glenn practically squealed, which he would end up denying with every bone in his body whenever Daryl teased him about it. He managed to push Daryl off of him, and then looked him in the eye and said, “You are such a freak.”

“Yeah, but you like it,” Daryl answered with a grin, then leaned down for the third time, this time kissing Glenn softly. He tasted like s’mores, which made Daryl hum appreciatively. He broke away, staring down at Glenn raggedly and licked his lower lip, promising more to come later.

Daryl pulled him to his feet and righted his chair while Glenn produced an empty beer bottle out of nowhere and set it on a flat piece of wood a ways away from the fire. He opened the first box and pulled out something that looked like a small tube attached to one end of a thin stick. Glenn inserted it into the beer bottle with the tube sticking out, pulled out a box of matches and lit something that Daryl couldn’t make out. Then he ran back to the fire before the firework went off.

Daryl expected something… well, better. The thing shot into the air with a hiss and then emitted a few intermittent flashes of green and red sparks with a series of popping noises. He waited a moment after it was done, not sure if that was really it or not.

“That’s it?” He stared at Glenn, who had a sheepish look on his face. 

“Well, sort of. That was kind of a pathetic one. Most of them will be better, I just don’t know which ones,” Glenn said, and opened a different box, pulling out a cylindrical tube. He set it on the piece of wood and did the same thing, lit it and ran back before it went off.

This one was better. It shot off roughly ten individual fireworks, each of them spiraling up into the air with a loud, high-pitched squeal and bursting into a cloud of yellow-gold sparks, bright against the dark sky.

The two of them started taking turns, opening up the boxes at random and lighting whatever was inside. Glenn lit one that launched into the air quietly, but exploded with a sound like a gunshot into a sphere of purple sparks that crackled and fizzled before going out. Daryl found a firework that worked like a fountain, creating a hissing and sizzling spout of multicolored lights that sprayed upward a few feet before streaming down around the source and winking out in the grass. 

They laughed at the rather weak fireworks, cheered for their favorites, screamed like girls and fled when Glenn managed to knock over the beer bottle and the firework flew straight for them instead up into the sky, and blew through the entire stack of boxes before they knew it. Daryl couldn’t remember ever having this much fun on a 4th of July before. When Glenn tipped the last empty box upside down and said “aww” with disappointment, Daryl swept him into his arms, lifted him up, and kissed him.

“I fuckin’ love you, you know that?” He growled against Glenn’s neck, nipping lightly at the skin there. Feeling Glenn fist his shirt and dig his fingernails into his back, hearing him gasp out “Shit, Daryl, I love you too,” he knew there was no way they were going to make it back to the house, let alone the bedroom that was all the way up the fucking stairs. 

The grass would just have to make do.


	5. Hypothermia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in between seasons 2 and 3, when the group spends the winter on the road.

Glenn watched Rick pick his way carefully down the hill, avoiding the patches of frost that might cause him to slip. His face was grim, his lips pressed tightly together, which meant there was bad news.

He looked back fearfully at his ragtag group, seven of them all huddled in blankets in a miserable semicircle as close to the tiny fire as they could get. Columns of mist rose from their mouths as they breathed, softly curling in the frigid air and disappearing into the darkening sky. Night was falling, and the temperature was dropping fast. Glenn pulled his patchy scarf up to protect his neck against a chill wind, and waited for Rick to reach him. 

The sheriff came to a stop in front of him, but didn’t say anything. His expression was as impassive as it could get, but Glenn knew him too well to miss the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face, the fear and desperation that swam in his blue eyes. He had the look of a starving animal who had searched too long and too hard to find food for its family, only to come up empty handed. 

“Daryl back yet?” Rick’s voice was quieter than normal, but it had that husky, forced tone that crept in whenever he was distraught. 

“No.” Daryl had gone to hunt five hours ago, and Glenn had been trying hard not to think about the redneck getting lost in the woods and slowly freezing to death overnight. If there was anyone he couldn’t stand to lose, it was Daryl. He was the ultimate survivor. If he died, Glenn’s heart would go right with him.

“He’ll be back. Don’t worry.” Rick put a hand on Glenn’s shoulder for a moment, and then started to walk towards the rest of the group. Glenn followed him, his chest feeling too tight and tears welling up in his eyes. He barely noticed as Rick explained to the others that it looked like a storm was on its way, and they would need to pack into the cars into order to share body heat and stay warm. They shifted unhappily, murmuring to themselves. They usually only shared sleeping places when they wanted to, they’d been able to salvage enough tents to give everyone at least a modicum of privacy.

“We won’t be able to use the tents, so Hershel, you, Maggie, Beth, and Carol can go in the Hyundai. There’s enough room for four in there. Lori, Carl, you two take the cab of the truck.” He paused for a moment, waiting for Lori’s reaction. She only stared blankly into the fire, Carl huddled at her side with his face half-hidden from sight. Rick turned his attention to Glenn and T-Dog. “You guys okay to squeeze into the bed of the truck with me and Daryl when he gets back?” 

Glenn nodded, blushing slightly. It wasn’t like he’d fantasized about sharing a sleeping space with Daryl for ages now. Not at all. He appreciated the way Rick said “when Daryl gets back,” not “if,” even though it didn’t comfort him much. He, Rick and T-Dog distributed all the blankets they had into the Hyundai and the truck cab, and they unrolled four sleeping bags in the bed.

Night had fallen completely, enshrouding the camp in darkness. The fire was beginning to die out, and the air was becoming even colder. The frozen branches of the trees rustled menacingly in the wind, which was beginning to moan and howl as the storm approached. Arranging the blankets and sleeping bags had distracted Glenn for a while, but now fear began to build in his chest. Where in the world was Daryl? Images of the redneck stumbling through the woods, half-frozen and half-conscious, crossed his mind, and he put his hands over his face. Daryl had to come back. He had to.

Glenn watched as the group dispersed, shuffling emptily toward their respective vehicles. Nobody seemed to have much willpower left. The cold was beating them down, and the coming storm added a special kind of misery to the pain they already bore. He wished he could do something about their unhappiness, but his only option was to try and remain strong for them.

The sound of cracking branches and heavy footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts, and he immediately reached for the gun at his hip, a burst of adrenaline spiking through him. The cold already made his fingers stiff, and his thick gloves didn’t help much as he fumbled to wrap his hand around his weapon.

Before he even managed to pull it out, Daryl stumbled out of woods, dragging his crossbow behind him and looking even worse than when he’d been stabbed with one of his own crossbow bolts. He managed to look up, swaying on the spot, and lock eyes with Glenn before collapsing to the ground.

“Daryl!” Glenn screamed, completely forgetting to be quiet and running toward the unconscious man. He fell to his knees and pushed Daryl onto his back, his heart nearly stopping at the sight of him. 

Daryl’s pants were stiff with a layer of ice, his boots were coated with it. His skin was pale and clammy, and he lay completely still, the mist rising in puffs from between his lips the only sign he was alive. Rick was there in an instant, his yells seeming as if they were very far away.

“T-Dog, grab his legs! Glenn! Snap out of it! We have to get him into the truck!” 

Glenn complied, his body barely working in his daze as the three of them half-carried, half-dragged Daryl’s limp body into the truck. Rick attacked his coat, yelling at the other two to get his boots and pants off and cover him with a blanket. Glenn ripped off his gloves and frantically tried to untie Daryl’s shoelaces, panic rising in his chest when it took an eternity to undo the frozen knots. As he struggled to get Daryl’s pants off, he could hear T-Dog unzipping a sleeping bag, and all of a sudden, Rick was yanking at Glenn’s clothes.

“Rick, what…?”

“You’re the smallest out of the three of us, you need to strip and get in that sleeping bag with him. That’s the only way he’s going to live.” Rick stared ferociously at Glenn, who only stared at him dumbly with shock. “We don’t have much time, dammit!”

That angry, panicked scream did it. Numbly, Glenn pulled off his coat as Rick undid his belt buckle for him. Glenn never thought Rick would be undressing him, and a bout of hysteria bubbled up inside him. Rick was undressing him. How weird. God, what was wrong with him? Daryl was dying and he was trying to keep himself from laughing?

He shivered in the cold air, naked except for his boxers, and crawled next to Daryl, who was completely naked, laying flush against him. He gasped as his skin touched Daryl’s, it was so icy cold. Shivering fiercely as he rubbed Daryl’s freezing skin, he was thankful that Rick and T-Dog piled blankets on top of them and then pushed themselves up against either side of Daryl and Glenn’s sleeping bag to lend whatever body heat they could. 

“He must have fallen through some ice,” Rick said as he tucked blankets around himself. “It’s amazing he made it back at all.”

“One tough son of a bitch.” T-Dog’s calm voice came from where he was buried underneath his own sleeping bag. Glenn stayed quiet.

A very long time passed, the wind howling and screaming outside the truck the whole time. Or maybe it was only five minutes. Either way, it seemed like years to Glenn. Daryl was so cold. Initially, he was completely still, but recently he’d begun to shiver. Violent tremors began to wrack his body, and his instinct-driven arms locked around Glenn, crushing him against his chest in an effort to bring his warmth even closer. Glenn wrapped his arms and legs around Daryl and rubbed his back, trying to provide as much heat as he could even though he had to force himself to keep from flinching away from Daryl’s frigid body. His face was buried in Glenn’s neck, and he was panting uncontrollably and shaking hard.

The shivering reached the height of its intensity, and slowly, painstakingly, calmed down as Daryl warmed up. Glenn managed to doze off after the worst of the shaking passed, content to stay wrapped in the other man’s arms as he slept. He hoped Daryl wouldn’t mind.

When he woke, the first thing he noticed was how oddly comfortable he was. He was actually nice and warm for the first time in months, and he hadn’t woken up repeatedly during the night like he usually did. He felt… rested. It was a strange feeling.

The second thing he noticed was the tense body next to him. Glenn’s head was resting on Daryl’s bicep with his face buried in his chest, and his arms were still wrapped around him. Daryl was unnaturally still, even his breathing seemed forcefully calm. 

Glenn looked up at him warily. He had no idea how Daryl would react to being naked in the same sleeping bag with another man. 

Daryl stared down at him with a curious expression. Glenn wasn’t sure if he was having a major freak-out or if he was actually okay with sharing his sleeping bag with him.

“Hey.” Glenn broke the silence, hoping he came off as casual and indifferent instead of “Oh my God, I’m naked and you’re naked and we’re really freaking close and I sure as hell hope I don’t get a boner and please say something so I know you’re not having a panic attack because I might have one if you don’t answer ohmygodohmygodohmy…”

“Hey.” Daryl dropped his gaze as if he was embarrassed. 

“Um… do you know what time it is?” 

Daryl glanced at the filmy window behind Glenn. “Maybe an hour till dawn.”

“Okay.” Glenn fidgeted, trying to reach an itch on his thigh. He looked back at Daryl, who still had that weird expression on his face. “Well, I guess I’ll go back to sleep. Is that okay?”

Daryl blinked at him and didn’t answer for a moment, as if he was trying to figure out what he wanted to say. “Yeah. Guess that’s alright.”

Glenn grinned a little, his heart soaring, and tucked himself back into the crook of Daryl’s shoulder. They could work out whatever they needed to work out after he woke up. Daryl’s arm was just so damn comfortable.

The grin became a full-on smile when he felt Daryl’s face gently bury itself into his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last Daryl/Glenn chapter! Many thanks to everyone who has left comments and kudos! I will probably post the first Daryl/Rick chapter sometime next week :]


	6. What If?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!! Spoilers for Season 4!  
> This is set the morning after Joe's group catches up with Rick, Carl, and Michonne.

Daryl handed Rick the damp, ratty washcloth and sat down beside him as he started to slowly wipe off the dried blood on his face. The guy looked like shit. His black hair was matted and tangled with blood, sweat, and dirt, and he looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a long time. They were parked in the middle of nowhere, old clothes covering the windows so Carl and Michonne could sleep. Rick seemed dazed, like he either didn’t quite know how to process the events of the night or knew all too well what had happened.

Daryl looked at him for a moment, and then turned his gaze back to the ground. He didn’t know how to say what was on his mind. He’d never been good with words. He needed Rick to know that he hadn’t been with that group because he wanted to. He had no idea that it was Rick they were looking for. When he finally realized what they were going to do, he’d tried to stop them. Tried to tell them the goddamn truth that Joe loved so much, that Rick and Carl and Michonne were all good people. Tried to tell them to take it out on him instead. His life was worth less than one of theirs. Didn’t matter what happened to him, long as Rick was safe. Carl and Michonne too.

“I didn’t know what they were,” he said, shame dripping from every word. Fuck, when they’d threatened Rick with everything under the sun, he’d felt so fucking helpless. The prospect of getting beat to death hadn’t been nearly as painful as what he imagined Rick was going through. Threatened with watching his son and Michonne get raped and his right-hand man get beat to death, hell, he couldn’t blame him for what he did.

“How’d you wind up with them?” The question didn’t hold the forgiveness Daryl needed. It very nearly broke his heart, knowing that Rick was this carefully guarded, not trusting anyone until he knew exactly what the case was. So Daryl explained.

“I was with Beth,” he started, unable to bring himself to look at Rick as he talked. Beth was gone, she was gone and he’d failed her like he’d failed Sophia.

“Is she dead?” Daryl felt Rick’s eyes on him, those piercing blue eyes he loved so much. He forced himself to look right back at him, to meet those beautiful, haunted eyes and not hide the shame he felt at not even being able to answer the question. He’d been tortured with that same damn question night after night, day after day, wondering if there was any way he’d be able to look Maggie in the eye again if they even managed to find her and Glenn.

Daryl took a small, steadying breath and said, “She’s just gone.” He hoped Rick would understand that there was nothing he could do, there was a pack of walkers on their tail and he needed to draw them away from her, it was his only choice and even after she’d been taken he’d followed that road for miles, until he reached that miserable fork and there was no way he could have known which way to go. No _fucking_ way.

Rick simply looked at him for what felt like ages, before nodding softly and turning his gaze back to the woods. Did he understand? Did he know?

Daryl started to ramble, trying to explain why he’d stayed with that group, even though he didn’t quite know why himself. He went on and on, before finally trying to sum up what he wanted to say with “I didn’t know what they could do.” And that was that. He stared at the ground, waiting for the verdict. Rick would either forgive or he wouldn’t. Daryl didn’t know what he would do if Rick didn’t, or couldn’t, forgive him. Rick had been the first person who had ever made him feel like he was worth something. Like he could actually belong somewhere other than nowhere with Merle. Like he was really and truly wanted.

“It’s not on you, Daryl.”

Daryl sucked in a shaky breath, moving his head like he couldn’t accept it. He did not like to cry, and right now he could feel tears pressing against the backs of his eyes. Rick didn’t blame him. Rick was forgiving him. Did he know just how much Daryl needed his approval?

“Hey,” Rick said softly, bringing Daryl’s attention to him. He looked at him with an expression that was neither angry nor condescending, but perfectly sincere. “It’s not on you,” he repeated.

Daryl was overcome with an onslaught of emotions, from the overwhelming love he felt for this man sitting beside him, to the lingering fear and shame he’d learned to harbor from Merle and his father, to relief and a small amount of rarely felt joy, and back to heartbreaking love again.

“You being back with us, here, now,” Rick said, meaning every word he said, “That’s everything.”

_Is it everything to you? The same way it’s everything to me?_ Daryl could hardly breathe.

Rick paused, as if he was thinking over the words he said next. “You’re my brother.”

And Daryl stopped breathing, just for a moment. Because those three words said everything he had never wanted to hear, not since that very first moment he’d thrown that line of squirrels at Rick’s head. Rick’s brother. Someone he loved and cared deeply for, but did not want to touch, or kiss, or love fiercely at night the way Daryl craved, the way he ached for. Someone to protect and share a meal with, but not to find happiness and solace in each other the way only lovers could do.

Daryl tried to keep his face impassive, but as he blinked back tears, he wasn’t so sure of how well he managed to do it. Rick’s brother. He should have known.

He deflected the conversation back to the events of last night, saying something he wasn’t sure he really believed, anything to distract himself from what felt like a hammer striking him right in the chest. Rick saw him as a brother, and nothing more.

But what if Rick knew just how hard Daryl had fallen for him? Would he feel differently? Would it even matter?

Daryl looked at Rick with everything he'd wanted to say since that very first moment caught in his throat, unable to overcome the distance that had just been placed between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are very welcome!


	7. Little Asskicker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU in which Daryl and Rick already have an established relationship and live together in an apartment.

The one thing Rick never thought Daryl would do was bring home a scrawny, flea-infested kitten right into their kitchen.

But there it was, clinging to Daryl’s shirt with all its might, its little pink mouth stretched wide as it let out the most pitiful, high-pitched mewl Rick ever heard. Its eyes were barely open, blinking blearily as it drunkenly tried to fix its gaze on Rick. 

“Daryl… why do you have a kitten?” Rick said over the kitten’s mewing, which seemed to be twice as loud as what should have been possible, considering the size of the kitten. How did such a tiny little thing make so much noise?

“Saw some filthy, disease-bearing, motherless poxy bastard throw her out the fuckin’ window of their car,” Daryl muttered darkly, the anger still clear in his blue eyes as he looked at Rick from where he was sitting at the table. “Pulled over and picked her up out of the bushes she fell in. Poor thing hasn’t shut up since.” The kitten let out a particularly loud and pathetic cry, as if to supplement Daryl’s words. Daryl immediately turned his attention to it, crooning softly and stroking its fur. The kitten was no bigger than his hand.

Rick sighed, and sat down in the chair next to Daryl. He watched the kitten’s head weave back in forth, like it was looking for something. It was pretty cute, he decided, even if it was exceptionally noisy. Her fur was a pretty brown color streaked with black tabby markings, and three of her tiny paws were white. He stretched out a hand and scratched the kitten’s head with his fingertip, smiling when she pushed back against him and mewed. She sniffed at his finger before grabbing it in her little mouth, sucking on it for a moment before letting go and wailing unhappily.

“I think she’s hungry,” Rick said, rubbing the kitten’s head again. “I’ll run down to the pet store and find out what we should feed her.” 

“Nah, I’ll do it. Here,” Daryl pried the squalling, flailing kitten off of his shirt and carefully handed her to Rick. He had an air of urgency about him, like keeping the kitten alive was the most important thing in the world at that moment. He kissed Rick quickly, and then grabbed the keys to his motorcycle and all but ran out the door.

Rick smiled at the door. He loved the way Daryl occasionally fixated on things and turned them into a kind of personal mission. Once, when Rick had been charged with finding a missing girl, he’d practically become part of the police force as he helped searched the streets for her after his shift at the mechanic shop.

He was brought out of his thoughts when the kitten started climbing up the front of his police uniform, digging her claws into the tan fabric and hauling herself up until she reached his shoulder, mewling the entire way. When she tried to clamber down his back, Rick peeled her off of him and carried her over to the couch in the living room and set her down on one of the cushions. He sat down next to her, watching her wobble towards him and attempt to scale the mountain that was his thigh.

“Don’t worry, Daryl’ll be back soon,” Rick said to the kitten, stroking her back and smiling when her twig of a tail stuck straight up in the air. She’d managed to pull herself onto his lap and was now curling up against his stomach. Within minutes, she was asleep, her sides puffing in and out as she breathed.

They sat like that for half an hour until Daryl came home, carrying a plastic bag that he dumped on the floor before walking over to where Rick was sitting and hovered over the sleeping kitten.

“She alright?” He asked, the concern evident in his rough voice.

“She’s fine. She’s just sleeping,” Rick said as they both watched the kitten twitching slightly in her sleep. He tried to get up from the couch without waking her up, but once he stood up, the kitten opened her eyes and started mewling unhappily again. He followed Daryl into the kitchen and watched as he took a container of kitten formula and a small bottle out of the bag. Daryl wordlessly read the directions and started mixing the powder with water in a small bowl before filling the bottle and taking the crying kitten from Rick. He cradled the kitten in one arm and held the bottle to her mouth with the other. She quieted down immediately and sucked at the plastic nipple hungrily. A soft purr rumbled from her chest as she nursed.

“Yeah, you like that, sweetheart?” Daryl murmured, holding the kitten close to his chest. “Little Asskicker?” He looked up at Rick, grinning madly. “Right?”

Oh God. Daryl had named the kitten. There was no doubt about it now, she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Right,” Rick agreed, smiling at his lover, who was looking pretty damn cute holding the kitten and feeding her. “Little Asskicker.”


	8. Captain Crossbow

Whenever they were home together on a rainy weekend, Daryl liked to just lay on the couch with Rick and do anything they felt like doing that day. Last time, they’d watched sappy romance movies for nearly twelve hours. The time before, they had a video game marathon, and Daryl saved Rick’s ass from the zombies in Black Ops more times than he could count. Half the time he went down and died while doing it, but it was the thought that counted. Or so Rick told him, as he was left to fend for himself against the horde and went nuts with the controller trying to stay alive.

This time, however, Daryl slept in while Rick went downstairs and made breakfast, something he rarely did since he liked to help Rick cook. The bed was just so damn comfortable. There was something about sleeping next to Rick that made the space between the sheets and the mattress the perfect place to be. Now that Rick was downstairs, the bed wasn’t quite as cozy, but the lingering warmth from his body heat made up for most of that. Daryl buried his face in Rick’s pillow, inhaling the scent of the shampoo he liked to use. Damn. He never quite figured out how Rick always managed to smell so good. 

Fuck it. He squirmed toward the opposite edge of the bed, taking over Rick’s side completely, burrowing into the blankets and soaking up the remaining warmth. Daryl stayed like that for some time, reveling in the combination of Rick’s scent, morning haze and soft, warm blankets. 

Something green caught his eye on the bookshelf. Curiosity eventually won over, and Daryl untangled himself from the sheets to pull out a giant, dusty, dark green photo album that had obviously not been opened for years. He padded downstairs with it, meeting Rick with a smile and a kiss.

“What’s this?” Daryl held up the photo album.

Rick took it from him, looking at it in wonder. “I haven’t seen this thing in years.” He opened it up to the first page, filled with three pictures. “It’s stuff from my childhood. Can’t believe I still had it.” He laughed softly, then turned it toward Daryl. “Here. That’s me when I was a baby.”

The first picture was a squalling infant held in his mother’s arms in a hospital, red-faced and blue-eyed with dark curls. Daryl snorted, quirking up at eyebrow at Rick. “Kinda look like a miniature Buddha. Fat and wrinkly,” he said, and dodged a smack his lover aimed at his shoulder.

“Yeah, I bet you came out looking just like you do now. No fat, just all hard muscle and too tough to cry.” The shine in Rick’s eyes told Daryl he was kidding, but he poked him in the side anyway.

“Lemme see the rest of them.”

They ate their breakfast in the kitchen as they leafed through the album, eventually moving to the couch with Daryl sitting in between Rick’s legs. Daryl immersed himself in Rick’s childhood, his first birthday, Christmases, all up until his gaze landed on a picture near the back of the album. He pulled it out from underneath the plastic holding it in place.

“Halloween?” He asked, holding it up for Rick to see. A dark haired boy stood in front of a tree with red and gold leaves, grinning widely and flexing both of his biceps. He had on a red mask, a white wifebeater and blue athletic shorts. A red and blue cape was fastened to his shoulders.

“No, you’d think so, but that was actually two weeks before. My mom bought me that costume when I was six, and I wore it nearly every day until Halloween.” Rick was laughing softly.

Daryl snorted. “My mom made me practically the same thing. It was one of three times I’d been trick- or- treating.”

“I can imagine that. Lil Captain Crossbow,” Rick teased, carding his fingers through Daryl’s hair.

“Hey now, Captain Crossbow can kick Officer Friendly’s ass anytime he wants.” 

Rick laughed, louder this time. “I don’t doubt that.”

Daryl smiled to himself and slid the picture into his pocket. He would put it in his wallet later on.

“They still make a good team,” he said, twisting around and kissing Rick before very deliberately looking into his gorgeous blue eyes. “Even if Officer Friendly isn’t that good at beating people up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the picture that inspired this chapter:  
> http://demanddrive.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/Kid_superhero_muscle.jpg


	9. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Daryl buy a house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew!! This has long been overdue guys, sorry about that. Got a little carried away with my other fic for a while. Hope you enjoy!

“Can I take this damn thing off yet?”

“Not yet,” Rick said. He knew Daryl was uncomfortable with the black bandanna covering his eyes, and they’d been driving for over an hour, but he’d worked so hard to keep this a surprise that he didn’t want to give in now. Besides, he liked the way Daryl’s southern drawl became more pronounced when he was annoyed.

“We there yet, Grimes?” Daryl was getting more fidgety by the second, squirming in his seat and readjusting the way he was sitting every few seconds.

“We’re there, _Dixon_ ,” Rick teased, pulling the car into the long driveway and enjoying the way the gravel softly crunched under the tires. “One more minute, okay?”

“Don’t fuckin’ know why you insisted on this damn thing anyway,” Daryl mumbled, slouching in the passenger seat and doing his best to look grumpy. Rick tried to hold back an amused smile until he remembered that Daryl had a blindfold on and wouldn’t notice. He parked the car and opened his door, taking his time as he made his way over to the passenger side. He could hear Daryl cussing him out from inside the car, which only made him smile more. His redneck could never be patient.

Rick opened the passenger door, stopped Daryl when he tried to take the bandanna off, and helped him out of the car. “Okay, take it off.”

Daryl ripped the bandanna off his head, and whatever smart comment he was about to make got caught in his throat on the way out. He stared openmouthed for a brief second before composing his features into a scowl again.

“The hell is this,” he growled, looking at Rick with utter confusion.

They were standing in a roughly circular clearing in the woods. The leaves were just beginning to turn red and gold, and a few were already scattered across the slightly overgrown grass. Dappled light patterned the ground and shaded the clearing from the bright sunlight. The clearing itself was very beautiful and serene, but what really had Daryl thunderstruck was the house in the middle of it.

It was medium sized and a golden tan color, with an old tree in the middle of the front yard. The porch began in front of the screen door and curved around one side of the house, the roof curving with it. A large bay window took up nearly the entire wall of the front of the house, jutting out slightly onto the porch. Another circular extension with a conical roof poked out at the top, no doubt the master bedroom.

Rick couldn’t resist. “It’s a house,” he said, teasing Daryl and annoying him to no end.

“I ain’t fuckin’ _blind_ , Rick. I’m asking why the hell we’re here,” Daryl huffed, crossing his arms and turning to look at the house again.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” Rick said, avoiding the question and walking toward the house. After a few steps, he looked back to see that Daryl had narrowed his eyes at him, and hadn’t moved a muscle. Before he could say anything, Daryl uncrossed his arms and began stomping toward the house. Rick held back an amused smile and followed him onto the porch.

He held up the key the realtor had given him when Daryl tried, unsuccessfully, to open the screen door. Daryl snatched it from him and shoved it into the lock, turning it with a mutter and yanking the door open.

Although the inside of the house lacked any sort of furniture, the natural daylight spilling in through the windows illuminated the room beautifully. The panels of the hardwood floors in the living room stretched out from beneath their feet, reaching toward a curving staircase on the other side of the room. The kitchen was small and charming, but Rick wasn’t looking at any of it. He was watching Daryl.

The younger man was trying to hide his astonishment and pleasure as he walked slowly through the house with Rick following some distance behind him, but Rick saw it plainly. He’d been around Daryl too long for the other man to effectively hide what he was thinking.

After exploring the downstairs level, Daryl made his way over to the staircase, resting his hand on the railing for a moment before stepping forward and going up. The entire upstairs floor was two rooms, the spacious master bedroom and a luxurious bathroom connected to it. It looked similar to the living room and had a cozy, attic- y feel to it, like somewhere to read in bed during a rainy day or a place kids would go to dream up adventures. Somewhere a young couple in love would go on their honeymoon.

Daryl stood in the middle of the room for a while, just taking it all in. Then he turned toward Rick, who was nibbling his lip nervously.

“What’s this about, Rick?” Daryl asked softly.

“It’s ours if we want it.” Rick said, his heart pounding. He had spent the last six months with multiple realtors, trying to find the perfect place. He’d had a hell of a time making up excuses to go and visit various houses, but he’d fallen in love with this one as soon as he saw it. He could clearly imagine exactly how he and Daryl would decorate it, which bedroom they could paint yellow and furnish with a crib and changing table. How they would sit out on the porch years from now, old and gray and just sitting quietly, listening to the sounds of the woods around them in the summertime.

Daryl blinked at him, and then looked around at the bedroom again. He ducked his head in that shy way he had. “All right, then.”

Rick practically burst with happiness. He strode forward and folded Daryl into a tight hug, tears leaking from his eyes.

“Rick, you don’t gotta break my fuckin’ ribs…”

Rick paid him no mind. They were home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the picture that inspired this chapter. For whatever reason, I can just see Rick and Daryl living here.  
> http://www.pinterest.com/pin/117797346477532287/


End file.
